


Right Where You Left Me

by theghostdreams



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkwardness, Bipolar Ian Gallagher, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Confessions, Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, EMT Ian Gallagher, Jealousy, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Reunions, Secrets, Stargazing, Tension, Unresolved Emotional Tension, canon typical language, season 7, season 7 episode 9
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:48:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28716021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theghostdreams/pseuds/theghostdreams
Summary: After almost two years in prison, both mentally and physically, Mickey was tired. He was tired of fucking random dudes, he was tired of working out, he was tired of waiting for someone to care. So, when he got the news that his case was being thrown out and he was getting released back into the world 13 years earlier than expected, he feels like a weight has been lifted. But he isn't stupid, he knows that a lot of things changed in two years. He knows that Mandy never once visited him, Ian never came back after the first time, and Svetlana eventually gave up too. He knew that there was no promise of anyone waiting for him outside his cell. However, he also knows that Terry is back home, and he doesn’t know if he has the strength to handle that shit. So, when the detective asks his for an address, he has to swallow his pain and lead himself back into the arms that bruised him.That’s how he ends up at the Gallagher doorstep, the place where he was arrested, and the first place we went to since he got out; he just hopes things haven’t changed too much.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Trevor
Comments: 24
Kudos: 115





	1. Burning Matches

**Author's Note:**

> Or, an AU where instead of the detective coming to the Gallagher doorstep in 7X09, it's Mickey.
> 
> Unbeta'd  
> I know nothing about how the prison system works so this is very unrealistic, but whatever! 
> 
> This is the first Gallavich fic I've written, and it's the first fic I've written at all for years so prepare for mistakes.

If someone didn’t fix the flickering light above his bed soon, he was going to lose it. Mickey could feel his blood boil every time the light flickered on while he slept, and he was getting to the point where he could no longer control his actions. He groaned internally, not wanting to wake his cellmate, and stared at the wall. 

When he first got there, he tried to decorate his wall and make it feel more like home, but every time he tried to draw, he drew _him_ , and Mickey tried his best not to think about _him_. That task often failed though, since he found himself thinking about him all the time. He wondered what he was doing, if he was healthy, if he was even alive. He looked on the brink of death the last time he saw him . He wondered if he was happy, if he had a job, if he was in a relationship. That thought hurt the worst, he felt his stomach churn every time it crossed his cerebellu m. However, no matter how much _he_ clouded his mind, he always pushed those thoughts back. The less he knows the better, right? 

So, instead, he thought of the beach. He had never actually been before, but he was pretty sure what to expect; warm sand between his toes, the sun blaring down his back, waves crashing at the shore. In his thoughts, the beach was freedom; it was a safe haven away from all the chaos of his old life. It was a place that wasn’t poisoned by his past, a place where he could finally breathe. However, just like the rest of his thoughts, he didn’t let himself stay there long because everything trailed back to him, and to his past. 

When the clock finally hit 6 A.M., Mickey was relieved to get up and run from the thoughts he was stuck in. He didn’t have time to dwell on stupid boys with stupid red hair; he was in prison for god's sake, he had to watch out. So, when the guards started to wake everyone up for breakfast, he exhaled a deep breath and got ready for the day, ready to pretend like his thoughts didn’t exist at all. He hopped down from his top bunk and slipped right into his jumpsuit and shoes, not in the mood to sit and talk to his idiot of a cell mate. Damon was a fine guy, but he was so fucking dumb Mickey wanted to claw out his ear drums sometimes. 

His cell door slid open as he heard the guards calling for breakfast and he slipped out and began walking towards the kitchen for his dish cleaning duty. Being a prison bus boy was one of the better jobs you can score on the inside, especially since no one is actively trying to stab the guy who helps feed them. 

He slipped into the kitchen that reeked of baked beans and soiled bread and got right to work on drying and setting plates. Mickey spent most of his time in prison working out or reading, he remembered some of the books Ian used to tell him about and reading them himself made him feel more connected to the outside world. 

Not a lot of people talked to him, and he was glad for it. He wasn’t a kid anymore; he wasn’t going to risk shit by stabbing dumb fucks over Jell-O or getting into fights with people. The sooner he just got the fuck out, the better. 

He was the first one to arrive for their kitchen duty, so he basked in the silence before people arrived and some predictable screaming started. However, the world hates him, and his comfortable silence was interrupted by some guy dressed in a simple outfit with a badge on his neck.

“Mikhailo Milkovich?” the man asked, his voice gruff and serious. 

Mickey’s head shot up from the dish he was holding, and he arched his eyebrow at the man, “Yeah,” he replied shortly. 

The man gave him a short smile and waved his hand for Mickey to follow him, “Come with me”. 

Mickey contorted his face in confusion, but he dropped the dish back down into the rack and reluctantly trailed after the man towards the office wing of the prison. After a long minute of silent walking, they arrived at an office at the end of the corridor. The man unlocked the heavy metal door with his jangly keys and ushered Mickey to sit at the chair in front of his desk. 

The man plopped down into his office chair with a grunt, rummaging through some papers before looking up at Mickey who was nervously chewing his lip, “It’s nice to meet you Mikhailo. I’m Detective Raymond, and I’ve been handling your case for the past few months,” he said in his gruff voice. 

“Last few months?” Mickey asked before he even processed the thought, “Why? I already got my sentence.” 

“Yes, but there’s been reasons to review your case recently,” Raymond responded as Mickey looked at him with rapid confusion, “A few months ago, the person who charged you, Sammi Slott was reasoned to be mentally unstable after an incident with a fellow inmate. She went through some evaluations, and they’ve confirmed that she is in fact invalid.” 

“The fuck does that have to do with me?” Mickey asked with a scowl, completely confused as to why that bitch’s obvious mental problems attained to him. 

Raymond let out a breath, leaning back into his chair, “So, because of her issues, all her testimonies in court are deemed false,” he replied simply. 

Mickey felt his heart speed up, was he actually saying what he thought he was? Were they going to release him _thirteen_ years early? He felt panic seep into his blood, and he was grateful that he was sitting because his knees felt numb. His face must’ve showed his thoughts, because Raymond replied for him, “Since her testimonies are invalid, the case has been dropped. You’re being released and your charges will be expunged.” 

Mickey’s jaw hit bedrock, and he literally felt like he might pass out. This was _too_ much, this whole time he thought he’d have to time to move on and grow before he was released, and now they’re throwing him right back out while his wounds were still fresh. Where was he even supposed to go? He had heard from some of the other inmates that his dad was released, so he couldn't go back home. He could try and find Svetlana, but she stopped visiting him after a couple of months. The bitch could’ve got deported or something. His only choice is to find Mandy, but he hadn’t seen her at all since she moved away with Kenyatta. Most likely, she was dead in a ditch somewhere because of that fucker. 

He felt his throat close up at the realization; there was only one person who would know where she is. Only one person who she would tell. Only one person who would probably know where everyone else was. Only one person who still tied him to his past. 

But there was no way in hell that could work; I mean who knows what could've changed in two years? Ian looked to be on the brink of death the last time he saw him, so for all he knows he actually was dead. Even if he wasn’t, there’s no way he could contact him. What, would he just show up at his doorstep and ask for Mandy like some idiot? The fact that his own sister disappeared on him is entirely depressing in itself. What if Ian wanted nothing to do with him? That's likely since he had to be forced to visit him. There were two possibilities; Ian was dead in a ditch along with Mandy, or he moved on and was doing great. In both scenarios, Mickey was unwanted. What the fuck was he supposed to do? 

He lost track of how long he was thinking before he looked back to Raymond with a scowl, “When do I get out?” he asked stupidly. 

“Right now, if you want to get moving,” Raymond replied. 

“ _Right now?_ Yall fuckers got a bus or something?” he asked with obvious panic in his voice. 

Raymond got up and put some folders in a briefcase, “No bus, I’ll drive you back. Got an address?” 

Of fucking course this douche felt the need to drive him back, god this sucked. Mickey tried to think about his choices fast; maybe he should just give him his old address and hope he can run before Terry shoots him. Maybe he could give a fake address in the middle of Utah and start over from there. 

No, both of those were stupid; he needed to stop being a little bitch and handle this shit like a man. He could go to the Gallagher's; he could swallow his fears and try and find Mandy. It would be simple; he would just ask Fire crotch for Mandy’s number, and leave, with absolutely no drama. Really, that was his only choice. 

He took a deep breath and physically tried to swallow his nerves, “Y-yeah, uh, 2119 North Wallace”, he said unsteadily. 

Raymond got up and stretched his arms before throwing Mickey a bag that appeared to hold his stuff, “Okay, let’s hit the road, tiger.” 

☼☽ 

“Is that tan real?” Ian started laughing before he even finished his sentence, poking fun at his boyfriend. He was glad that they worked through this shit with Monica; he didn’t know what he’d do if she ruined another one of his relationships. _Fuck_ , Ian mentally punched himself for that thought. Monica was a shit show, and if he was being honest, he had been sure that this was going to ruin him and Trevor’s relationship. Meeting Frank is one thing, but Monica is her own speci es of insanity. She knew how to fuck things up, it’s what she did best. If Trevor could handle _having drinks_ with her, he might as well be a superhero. 

That’s one of the things Ian loved about him; he knew how to handle pretty much anything. I mean, he accepted the Gallagher’s insanity with open arms and hasn’t made Ian feel bad for his family once, unlike Caleb. Ian never met anyone else who could handle that, well besides _him_ . _He_ probably handled it even better than Trevor. He knew how to interact with his family like they were his own; and in a way, they were. 

Fuck, he couldn't be doing this shit. He can’t compare them, that was just a nightmare waiting to happen. Ian tried to drown all his thoughts of him, pushing down his name every time it passed his frontal lobe. He couldn’t let himself drive down that road, because who knows what it would do to him. But, despite his trying, Ian knew that Mickey would always have a place in his brain; he had his own little room which he lived in rent-free. 

Seeing Monica again threw him back to his thoughts of Mickey; he couldn’t stop thinking about the last time he saw her and what happened then. He knew she wasn’t entirely to blame, but it _was_ her who fueled the idea of Mickey not loving him. It was her who put the poison that his meds made him a lesser person. He was just stupid enough to believer her; he was stupid enough to ruin one of the best things he ever had. That was the worst part, that right after he did it, he knew he was wrong. As soon as he saw the hurt on Mickey’s face, he knew that fighting wouldn't be worth it. However, he was a stubborn son of a bitch, and Monica’s voice was just a little louder than his own. So, he fucked it all up; he ruined things just like he always does. 

But that was then, and this is now, and he refuses to let Monica fuck up things with Trevor. He let her have too much power before, but that would never happen again. Not until the day he died. 

He thought about the last time he saw Mickey, and what he promised him. He felt guilty when he thought about it, the fact that he told him he’d wait. Because it was lie, he obviously hadn’t waited. Ian hated lying, it always made him feel horrible, but lying to Mickey felt like committing a federal crime; it made him feel like he should be the ones behind bars. Honestly, maybe he should, maybe he should be the one in jail; he felt like he deserved it more. 

Ian wondered how Mickey was doing in prison; if he was causing trouble, if he had met someone, if he was happy. What a stupid thought, of course he isn’t happy in _prison_. 

In the depths of his mind, Ian missed Mickey. He missed him more than anything in the world. He missed their sarcastic banter, their kisses, their sex. He even missed the fights, mainly because he loved that their fights always ended in happiness. He missed Mickey’s smile, and the way his cheek crinkled when he was joyous. He missed his eyes, and the way that he could drown in their blue. He missed his hands, and the tattooed threats on them. He missed every little thing about him. He missed having someone who he could be completely vulnerable with. Sure, he could be himself around Trevor, but he still kept up some of his walls. With Mickey, Ian was naked 24/7, there was so much unspoken, but it never mattered because the air spoke for them. He wondered if he’d ever feel that way again, if anything would ever give him the same thrill; but he knew that he couldn’t indulge in those prospects, because no matter what he did, Mickey wouldn’t be there, and he’d just be left with hollow notions. 

Ian might not be in love with Trevor, but he loved being around him. He loved smoking weed and messing around with him, he loved waking up and making breakfast with him, he loved having _someone_ . Sure, maybe Trevor could never fill the Mickey s haped whole in hi s heart, but that was okay. Ian _needed_ to lose Mickey, he needed to learn how to grow on his own. A lone tree must plant a new seed and develop new roots to create a woodland. 

Trevor laughed along at his remark, which he had forgotten about saying since he let himself fall into his mind, “It’s bronzing lotion,” he chuckled, “Fuck off, man.” 

Ian snapped back to reality to laugh with him, tilting his head back to rest it on the couch. He looked at Trevor with a smile on his lips, happy to know that they were able to get past Hurricane Monica, happy that he was able to move on – from today’s events along with the older ones. 

“You want another beer?” Trevor asked him with a smile, as usual since he was always smiling. Ian nodded in response, inhaling the joint in his hand. He inhaled his past, he inhaled Monica, he inhaled Mickey; then, he exhaled it all and rested his heavy eyelids. 

Trevor returned with the beers and they sat in silence for a moment, before they were interrupted by a voice outside. He heard Fiona yell for him, an odd tremor in her voice, “Hey, Ian! Can you come here?” 

☼☽ 

The drive back to the Southside was probably the most awkward experience Mickey ever had to endure, and it was because Raymond was silent the entire time. In the hour that it took them to get back into civilization, the man never spoke a single word. 

Everything about this confused Mickey; no one drove him home all the other times he was released from the joint. Was this guy plotting something? Fuck, maybe he was trying to kill Mickey or some shit; never mind, that was stupid. He just couldn’t figure out what this guy’s exigence was, and it was really starting to bother him. 

By the time they were getting close to their destination, and Mickey’s palms were drenched in a nervous sheen, they stopped for gas at a 24/7 station. With the sun set, and his nerves on fire, Mickey couldn’t stop himself from asking when Raymond got back into the car. 

“Why the fuck did you drive me all the way here?” he spat out with more venom than intended. 

Raymond gave a curt smile and a simple answer, “Just making sure you don’t get into trouble; your case was a bitch, so I’m hoping I don’t ever see you again. Besides, the prison needs a break from the Milkovich stench.” 

“Probably won’t last long,” Mickey replied smugly, knowing that there was no way Terry could stay out of prison for me than a year. Raymond’s reasoning was weird, but who’s he to turn down a free ride. It’s not like he had anyone else to pick him up, they probably knew that from his visitation records and were just trying not to hurt his feelings. 

When they were about ten minutes away, Mickey realized how stupid this was. There was no way in hell he would be able to see him, not without beating him or fucking him right on the porch. He couldn’t just walk up to his door and ask for Mandy’s number, which would just be the most awkward thing ever. What if Ian wasn’t even there? What if he fucked off to Mexico or some shit? He was walking into this completely blind, and he had nothing to help support him. The urge to jump out of the moving car struck him deeply, and he almost did it before he was stopped by Raymond locking the door. 

Mickey jumped at the click and shot his head up towards Raymond who pretended like nothing happened, “You think I’m going to let you jump into the road under my supervision?” 

All Mickey could do in response was slump back into his seat and try and steady his accelerating breath. “What’s got you so nervous, anyways. Am I driving you to a crack house?” Raymond asked with the first real smile Mickey had seen. 

“N-No, just it’s um; it’s an old friend. Not sure how it’s gonna play out,” Mickey uttered in response, regretting every decision he’s ever made. 

“There’s always the shelter,” Raymond tried to joke, but lamentably failed at trying to soothe him. 

Then he saw it, they just passed the fucking L track. Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, FUCK. This was stupid, so so so fucking stupid. Mickey had never felt so close to death than now, and he’s been shot fucking twice. This felt like walking to his execution, like he was just setting himself up for unbearable pain. 

Mickey spent so much time freaking out that he didn’t realize that they were there; they were outside the fucking Gallagher house. Raymond had put on some weird police light and Mickey closed his eyes as he parked the car. Oh, and to make things worse, Phillip and Fiona Gallagher sat right outside, smoking and yelling about the light, “Fuck! Woah!” 

Well, it was now or never; he grabbed his bag from the floorboard and stepped out of the car foot first, trying his best to shield his face. 

He failed, and desperately so. Fiona froze completely at the realization of who was in front of her, and Lip’s jaw was practically on the ground. “ _Mickey_?” it was Fiona who finally broke the silence. 

Mickey rocked on the back of his feet and bit his lip nervously, “W-What are you doing here?” Lip asked him. 

Forced to snap back to reality, Mickey responded with, “Got out. I need to find Mandy, do either of you have her number?” Maybe this could work well; if Lip knew where she was, he could leave without ever having to see _him_. 

Lip let out a breath of astonishment before replying, “N-no man, she hasn’t been around here for a while, only Ian talks to-” he cut himself at the mention of him, and Mickey felt himself stiffen at the mention. 

_Fuck_ , he was going to have to ask him. This was actually about to happen. Mickey took a deep breath, it was now or never, “H-he here?” 

“Y-yeah. Yeah, he’s inside,” Fiona stuttered breathlessly, in frozen shock of seeing Mickey. 

Mickey stared down at the sidewalk and focused deeply on a blood stain, trying his best to not pass out right there. His heart felt like it was going to explode, he genuinely felt like he was dying. Fiona looked behind her shoulder behind the door, yelling with a quiver in her voice, “Hey Ian! Can you come here?” 


	2. Brush off Dust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The titles of this fic along with the chapter titles are all inspired by Taylor Swift's song, "Right Where You Left Me"
> 
> There will be five chapters of the fic, but I do not have a specific posting schedule.

Ian quickly put out his joint and sat down his beer on the coffee table, trailing to the front door. He opened the door and stepped out into the cool air, looking behind him at Trevor as the door close shut. In the instance it took for him to lift his eyes he felt his whole world fall upon itself. 

Eyes: eyes were all he saw. Bright blue eyes, swimming in the dark with a sheen of glass on them. Ian felt every nerve in his body freeze; it literally felt like time had stopped. 

Mickey Milkovich was right in front of him, living, breathing, and _here_. 

As Ian stepped outside of the house, Mickey saw him smiling at something inside, and his entire brain collapsed at the sight of that smile. It was bright, and beautiful, and everything he had missed so much. Mickey studied Ian carefully in the milliseconds where he hadn’t noticed who was in front of him; almost like he was afraid Ian was going to disappear. 

Fuck, he looked good. He looked healthy, and happy, and so much older than before. Who was last a red headed, skinny boy on the brink of death was now a muscular, bright man, with curls of orange on his head. 

When their eyes met, time split. It split right down the middle, like the mirror Mickey had punched on that desperate night. It cracked into two and left them right where they had last been. Ian standing on that porch, all the power in his hand, and Mickey on the bottom, trembling with burning nerves. Mickey was wearing the same clothes for fucks sake. 

It felt like no time had passed, and they were right where they left each other: vulnerable and in the dark. 

Neither Ian nor Mickey could tell how long they bored at each other, in silent awe of the events before them. It couldn’t have been as long as it seemed because Ian broke the silence just as Trevor stepped out, “Mickey?” he hadn’t meant for it to come out so breathless and golden, but his lungs felt empty anyway. 

Mickey still couldn’t process any words, hearing Ian’s voice for the first time in two years did nothing to settle his nerves. He looked tried to tear his eyes away from Ian, but it was like the was glued to his place. All he could manage was a stupid, and awkward head nod towards him; the perfect introduction after showing up announced at his doorstep straight out of prison thirteen years early. 

Ian seemed to get his motor skills pack as he walked down the steps to be in front of Mickey, his hands burrowed deep into the pockets of his hoodie. Mickey looked different, but still so the same. His fair was long, and his skin was paler, but his features were the same as ever. His eyes were just as blue, and his lips were just as full. 

“W-What are you doing here?” Ian choked out, his voice sounding foreign to him. His question held to anger to it, like Mickey expected; he almost sounded worried; which made no sense to him. 

On the porch, quietly watching the encounter, Lip, Fiona, and Trevor stood in an awkward silence, studying the two. Lip in awe, Fiona in disbelief, and Trevor in complete confusion. Finally, Lip made the move to head back inside, not really interested in hearing whatever sort of shitshow was about to happen. Fiona took the cue and Trevor trailed after them, puzzlement leaking from his brain at the awkwardness from everyone. 

Inside the house, Fiona and Lip stood in silence in front of the couch for a moment, before Lip broke the silence, “Holy Fuck.” For some reason, this breaking of the tension made Fiona hysterical, and she barked out a loud laugh, practically falling on the couch. Lip followed in short, picking up one of the unlit blunts on the table and lighting it, a laugh bubbling in his throat. 

Trevor stood in confusion, awkwardly smiling at their laughing it, “W-Who was that?” he asked from his seat on the recliner. 

The laugher from Lip and Fiona quickly dissipated and they looked between each other awkwardly, silence hanging in the air. Lip took the fall, clearing his throat, “T-That’s Mickey,” he said, like that was supposed to mean something. 

“Okay...Who is that?” Trevor asked awkwardly. 

Both Fiona and Lip’s heads shot up, looking questionably at Trevor, “Ian never told you about him?” Fiona questioned. Trevor just shook his head in response, confused on why everyone was acting so weird. 

“Mickey is Ian’s ex-boyfriend,” Fiona answered, hoping she didn’t fuck up things for Ian. 

Trevor just shifted his nose in confusion, he thought Ian had told him about all of his exes; he knew about the firefighter who cheated on him, the old dude who tried to molest Lip, the other old dude who was his boss. The guy outside couldn’t have been any of them. Trevor was pulled out from his thoughts by a snort coming from Lip, which he responded to with a questioning look. 

“’Ex-boyfriends’ is an understatement, those mother fuckers were star crossed lovers or some shit,” Lip chuckled, sipping from one of the beers on the table. Fiona sent him a death glare, hitting him in the stomach with her backhand. 

Looking back up at Trevor, Lip frowned and tilted his head apologetically, “Sorry, dude; honestly, I wouldn’t worry about it, there’s a better chance of them killing each other than anything else.” 

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Trevor asked with a mix of confusion, and slight anxiety, but disguised it with a laugh. Whatever Lip was talking about, Trevor would worry about later; he trusted Ian, an ex-boyfriend wasn’t going to mess with them. 

“Just look out for him for us, okay? Ian gets a little out of control around Mickey, don’t let him fuck up all the good things he’s gotten,” Fiona said with a glower, getting up to get herself a beer. 

Now, Trevor was even more puzzled. Why had Ian never mentioned this Mickey guy? Why is he here all of the sudden? Why is everyone acting like he’s some sort of mysterious entity? 

Fiona decided to distract them all, turning on the TV and handing Trevor another beer while he immersed himself in curiosities. 

☼☽ 

Ian felt everyone retreat inside but he couldn’t move; he felt frozen in his spot, just staring into his eyes. For a second, he thought he was dreaming, that this was some lucid dream he was having from laced weed. He took a second to blink, shutting his eyes hard and opening them slowly, but when he was still greeted with Mickey in front of him, he let out a shuddering breath. 

“W-What are you doing here?” he breathed out, taking a few steps closer. 

Mickey mirrored Ian, blinking hard and taking a deep breath, regaining his competence, “G-Got out,” he choked out. He took a moment and cleared his throat, “Turns out your crazy bitch of a sister is actually crazy, so her charges were void.” 

“Wow,” was all Ian could muster to say, still in complete shock of the man in front of him. 

“Look, I didn’t come here to fuck shit up for you. I just need Mandy’s number, see if she can pick me up,” Mickey spit out with a bit of irritation, which made Ian visibly tense. 

Ian looked at Mickey, who was staring at the ground, with a sad expression. He could feel Mickey’s anguish radiating off him, and he hated that Mickey felt like a burden for coming to him. 

“Y-yeah I’ll get you here number,” Ian reached slowly for his phone in his back pocket before he remembered where Mandy was, “But...Mandy’s not living here anymore.” 

Mickey’s head shot up, panic ensuing, “Where is she?” he asked with accidental anger. 

“S-She’s in Europe; Paris right now, I think. She’s traveling with some rich dude for this whole year,” Ian muttered out, watching Mickey panic while trying to figure out what to do. 

“Fucking shit,” Mickey cursed before turning fast on his heel, preparing to retreat back to the Milkovich House of Horror. However, he didn’t make it very far because Ian’s freakishly long legs were fast enough to stop him. 

Ian grabbed his arm, confused on where he was running to, “W-Where are you going?” 

Shifting hard, Mickey tore his arm from Ian’s grasped and looked at him with a choler expression, “Back home, man. Where the fuck else would I go?” he bit out. 

“But your dad got out; he’s staying there now,” Ian retorted, with a glum look. 

“Whatever man, I’ll just have to deal,” Mickey countered, finding himself slightly annoyed at Ian’s care all of a sudden; he could’ve used this attitude when he was locked up. 

The idea of Mickey going back to Terry made Ian sick to his stomach, and the panic made him act before he really thought, “What? No, don’t be stupid. You...You can stay here.” 

Mickey gave Ian the most confused and astonished look, “W-what?” was the only thing he could manage to say. 

Well, no turning back now. Ian didn’t care about anything else but Mickey being safe right now, they could deal with the rest later. “Yeah man, we’ve got room here since Carl and Debbie moved out. You can stay in my old room while you get back on your feet,” he responded, proud of himself for being able to do this with such steadiness. 

Mickey was weary of this idea, sleeping in Ian’s old bed and jumping right back into living with him after everything that happened sounded like a nightmare waiting to happen. But honestly, what other choice does he have? Going back to Terry is practically begging for death, and he sort of wants to solve his past problems before dying. 

So, he kind of has to say yes right? I mean, Ian seems to be healthy and solid, so maybe this could work. They could co-exist for a little while they sorted out their problems. Honestly, this could be a great way of winning Ian back. Yeah, Mickey was fucking angry with him, but he still wanted him. He always would, and this opportunity could be a great start. 

“Yeah, okay man,” Mickey finally answered, grabbing his bag and trailing after Ian up the stairs, his heart still violently apace. 

☼☽ 

All three heads in the living room shot up when the front door opened, and everyone was silent as both Ian and Mickey walked in. Lip’s eyes widened at seeing Mickey walked in, he was honestly expecting them to beat each other up right outside. 

“No blood?” Lip asked, and it would’ve sounded like a joke if they all weren’t actually thinking it. 

Ian blew out a breath and scratched his forehead, looking awkwardly between everyone, “N-No, no blood,” he mumbled before choking out what he actually needed to say, “Mickey’s gonna stay here. In my old bed, until he’s back on his feet.” 

Once again, all three heads shot back at Ian, sharing a joint expression of confusion. 

“What? Ian, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Fiona asked. 

Mickey felt tension and embarrassment seeping through his bones, “It’s fine, Gallagher, I’ll just stay at Terry’s,” he said quietly, turning back towards the door. 

“No! You...that’s just not gonna happen, man,” Ian said towards Mickey before turning back to everyone else, “He’ll stay here until things work out, okay? I’m not letting him go back to that house, and no one's changing my mind.” 

Fiona sighed, she didn’t have the energy to fight Ian on this, and she could tell he wasn’t going to budge. She knew that this would probably end horrible, but Ian was an adult, and she would try and trust him with this one. She wasn’t stupid, she knew what Ian and Mickey went through, and she knew that it wasn’t something you just move on from. She knew what Mickey went through, and looking at him now, he looked so small. He didn’t look like that Southside thug she once knew, he looked scared and desperate. She wasn’t going to throw him out on the streets, and she wasn’t going to hurt Ian. 

With another sigh, she gave them both a small smile and stepped back into Mom Mode, “Go put your stuff upstairs, Mickey. I’ll get you something to eat.” 

Ian visibly laxed at her response, softening his demeanor and giving her a nod to say thank you. He watched Mickey give her a simper, and then retreat up the stairs. His legs all of a sudden felt too heavy, and he collapsed down on the couch, running his hands through his hair with stress. 

“What the fuck, man?” Lip whispered to him, exasperated. 

With anger seeping into him, Ian shot his head up at Lip, but his face only showed worry. Of course, they were worried he was doing something crazy; and maybe he was. But this wasn’t manic crazy, they knew this. It was Ian’s special brand of Mickey crazy. 

“It’s fine, Lip. I got this,” Ian said to Lip, a tight smile on his lips. The older brother was doubtful but returned the gesture with a clap on Ian’s back as he went upstairs. 

So caught up in what just happened, Ian completely forgot about his boyfriend sitting right in front of him. 

  
“So...,” Trevor sighed, a taken aback look on his face. 

“Shit, man. I’m so fucking sorry, I wasn’t expecting any of this,” Ian responded. 

Of course, being the understanding guy he was, Trevor just replied with, “You don’t have to be sorry, babe. I’m just...kind of confused.” 

Ian took a deep breath, “That’s Mickey, my...old friend. Old boyfriend.” 

“How come you never told me about him?” 

“Kind of too much to tell,” Ian whispered with an awkward laugh, his head hanging low. 

“Hey,” Trevor lifted Ian’s head with his hand, “You don’t have to tell me anything right now. We got time.” 

Ian let out a breath, leaning into Trevor’s touch, “Thank you. I promise I’ll explain soon.” 

Trevor just kissed his head, smiling into his hair, “So now I’ve met two people from your past in one day, we’re going kind of fast, huh?” 

Laughing in response, “Trust me, I was not preparing for this.” 

“Don’t worry about it. Past is the past right?” 

Ian shivered at that phrase, because he was unsure if it was true. Could Mickey ever be just the past? It’s hard to look at him like that when he was always there in his head, floating around like a lapsed spirit. But with all this might, Ian was going to try and work this out. Being was Trevor was good for him, and he could do this. He _had_ to. 

“Right,” Ian whispered. 

“Come on, let’s get some of that food Fiona’s whipping up,” Trevor took Ian’s hand, and dragged him to the kitchen. 

Mickey slowly came down the stairs at the same time Ian sat down at the table. They stared at each other for a moment, before Mickey gave him a small smile and sat down across from him. If he’s going to do this, he’s going to do it right. He’ll start slow, and be polite, prove to Ian that he’s changed for the better; he needs to convince him that they can try again, and succeed this time. Fiona and the guy he guessed was her new boyfriend were in the kitchen cooking, and Mickey took the chance to start talking to Ian. 

“So... You said Mandy’s in Paris? How the fuck did that happen?” 

Ian smiled, relieved that Mickey was opened to talking to him, “Yeah, she’s touring with some guy she met. A client of hers, I think.” 

“Client?” Mickey questioned with a mumble. 

“Oh, yeah, she became an escort up on the Northside after she escaped that baboon. She’s making a shit ton, drives a Jeep,” Ian answered with a chuckle. 

“A Jeep? Mandy drives a Jeep? Jesus Christ, ain't that some shit,” he laughed a real, solid laugh. 

“I know right? I don’t know how she did it, man, but she’s seems to be doing great,” Ian laughed along, and for a second, while they stared at each other, it felt like no time had passed. It felt just like when they were kids talking shit in the dugouts, and it made Ian’s stomach clench. 

“What about things here? You said Carl and Debbie moved out. How’d that happen; did Fiona finally give up and boot them?” Mickey asked. 

“Nah, they’re out doing great too. Carl’s at military school, and he’s a fucking _cadet;_ and Debbie’s living with her kid at her fiancé's house,” Ian smiled. 

Mickey’s eyebrows shot up in bewilderment, “Kid? No fucking way Peppermint Patty has a kid.” 

Ian chuckled, tilting his head to the side with a smile, “Yeah she does, a girl named Franny. She’s a cute little thing”. 

“Wow...that’s crazy, man,” it was just hitting him out many things had really changed. I mean, just looking at Ian he could tell that things had changed with him. He felt awkward asking, but he kind of had to. 

He cleared his throat awkwardly at newfound silence, “So... uh, what about you?” 

Ian exhaled with anxiety but still gave him a small smile, “I’m good, man; I’m really good actually. I got a job as an EMT.” 

“Saving lives and shit?” Mickey laughed ineptly. 

Ian looked into his eyes, and he knew what he was trying to ask, “Yeah, it’s great.” The rest he said quieter, “I’m doing good with everything else too. I’m on the meds and they help; they keep me steady. I mean, there’s still ups and downs, but I’m solid.” 

Mickey gave him a simper of relief. He was sincerely so glad that he was better, and that his life seemed to be doing so great. Although, it did hurt to know that he did it without him; it proved his worries that Ian didn’t really need him, and that hurt more than ever imagined. But he wasn’t going to let that derail him. Of course, he changed, Mickey changed just as much. Just because they grew up, didn’t mean they couldn’t hold a relationship. Hell, maybe this was a gift in disguise; since they were more mature now, maybe their relationship could be even stronger than before. For so long, Mickey was too afraid to be vulnerable with Ian, too scared to show his love for him. Then, as soon as he could, Ian got sick and things went to shit. But now, Ian was healthy, and Mickey wasn’t scared. There was nothing in their way now. 

“I’m glad. I’m happy you’re happy, Ian,” Mickey replied a tad unsteady. Ian smiled in response, the nerves draining from his mind. 

Fiona’s voice from the kitchen interrupted their bubble, “Breakfast at night! You want coffee?,” she said as she trailed over to the table with eggs. 

“That’d be great, thanks,” Mickey replied. He looked behind him at her and the guy in the kitchen, who was giving him an odd look, as if he was studying him or something. 

The guy grabbed some mugs from the cabinet and trailed after Fiona with the coffee pot. Mickey grabbed one of the cups and poured himself some of the coffee, going to take a sip when he realized that the guy was sitting next to him, eyeing him slightly. He saw Ian and Fiona staring at the two of them oddly, and he was filled with another round of confusion. 

“Trevor,” the guy reached his hand out in a greeting. 

Mickey returned his handshake, “Mickey, nice to meet you, man.” He looked at him for a moment, he looked younger than him, and especially young for Fiona. 

“Yeah, you too,” Trevor smiled, before looking down at his watch glaring at the time. 

He got up and stretched his arms, walking over to Ian who was more tense before, “I’m gonna head up, babe; got orientation tomorrow,” he said before leaning down and kissing Ian on the head. 

Eyes wide and shoulders tensed, Mickey looked down at his cup of coffee, a sudden feeling of nausea rushing over him. Of fucking course that was Ian’s boyfriend. How could he have been so dumb to think that Ian would’ve actually waited. He felt like the world's biggest idiot, and he fought the urge to run out the house with the amount of embarrassment he felt. Trevor was a good-looking dude, a lot better looking than Mickey, and based off his clothes, he made decent money. He kissed Ian and called him babe in front of his family, he showed no shame. Suddenly, Mickey was angry at that. He was angry that he was _able_ to be so shameless. That’s all he ever wanted with Ian, to be able to love him with no fear or shame; but now, some other guy had swooped in and taken his chance. A guy who didn’t have a Nazi, murderous dad, or violent tattoos. A guy who would never hit Ian, who could wake up with him make sure he takes his meds, who could go out with him to clubs, who would never be afraid to love him the way he deserved. Mickey’s anger soon melted into guilt; he felt so guilty that he could never give Ian that. He felt guilty that he wasn’t able to tell Ian how much he meant to him before it was too late. He felt that guilty that he couldn’t love him shamelessly and unafraid, just like he deserved. 

“Okay, I’ll be up soon,” Ian muttered, looking down too, too afraid to look at Mickey. He felt sick, sick and dirty. He used to love making Mickey jealous, he loved the way he would get annoyed whenever another man showed him any attention. He loved the way that Mickey would whisper ‘ _mine’_ in his ear while the fucked after his shifts at the club. He loved the way he could make Mickey feel so much. But now, it made him feel disgusting. Knowing that Mickey now knew that he lied, that he didn’t wait, and found someone else made him sick. He didn’t want Mickey to think that he didn’t care, and that he just moved on as if it was nothing; but in a way, that’s exactly what he did. Right after he was locked up, Ian started things with Caleb, and right after Caleb, he moved onto Trevor. He was just stuck on one, long rebound; and the realization made him nauseous. 

Fiona cleared her throat and got up, kissing Ian on the head as she retreated upstairs for bed. 

Mickey’s appetite was now completely gone and he afraid than even the coffee was going to make him sick, “I-I think I’m gonna head up too,” he muttered awkwardly. 

Ian coughed, getting up and clearing the table, “O-Okay, lemme get you some clothes.” 

“Nah, it’s fine, man. I’ll sleep in this,” Mickey countered. 

His response didn’t matter because Ian threw him a clean shirt of his from the pile on the washer. Mickey recognized the shirt instantly; it was the white button-up sweater that Ian had worn at one of their smoke sessions at the dugouts. It was soft, and too large for him, but he gave Ian a small nod and went upstairs to put it on. 

In Ian’s old bedroom, Mickey felt like an intruder. He was going to be sleeping his ex’s childhood bed that they once shared, while he slept with his boyfriend in the next room. How fucking pathetic. 

He was taking off his current shirt to change when he noticed Ian standing in the doorway staring at him, wait no, staring specially at his tattoo. That stupid fucking tattoo that Mickey did just to make Ian smile for four seconds. 

“It healed well,” Ian whispered. 

Mickey looked up at him, and his anxiety drained instantly when he saw the look in his eyes. Ian looked earnest, and completely benign, as if he was trying to say the perfect thing to make Mickey feel better. He was trying, and to Mickey, that’s all that mattered. 

“Yeah, I’m surprised the damn thing didn’t infected,” he muttered, mirroring Ian’s expression. 

They stood quietly for a moment while Mickey got ready to sleep, the moonlight from the window being the only light in the room. 

“I’m sorry, Mickey,” Ian said with such sincerity it made Mickey shiver. He closed his eyes for a moment, drowning in the devoutness of the situation; Ian didn’t need to say what he meant, Mickey already knew. He always knew, and he also knew Ian would know what he meant when he responded. 

“Goodnight, Gallagher,” was all Mickey said before climbing into the bed, and Ian smiled to himself as he retreated, knowing exactly what he meant. 

☼☽ 

Bright rays of sunshine were beating down on Ian’s eyes from the window, and his lack of sleep made him feel utterly vexatious. Trevor was sitting up at the bottom of the bed, slipping his shirt on with a yawn. 

“Morning,” Trevor greeted at Ian’s pained stretch as he forced himself to sit up. 

“You still tired?” he asked. 

“Feel like I was in a bar fight,” Ian muttered in response, running his hands through his hair. 

“You were pretty restless last night. Your ex showing up ...that’s gotta be a lot. You...you don’t think he’d try and win you back or anything?” Trevor asked clumsily, with obvious anxiety. 

Ian’s heart jumped at the idea, he had been thinking the same thing, but hearing it from Trevor made it feel so real. But he knew Mickey wasn’t going to try and get back with him; he knew that he had hurt him so bad, to the point where there was no coming back. 

“N-No, no that shipped has sailed. I’m...I’m just trying to make right on what I did. I don’t know, maybe be friends again,” Ian sputtered. 

“What you did?” Trevor countered, and Ian mentally slapped himself for letting that slip. 

“We didn’t end well; I-I broke up with him after I got sick and left him in prison,” 

“Prison? That’s where he was?” Trevor asked with his eyes shocked, he had assumed this guy just had some family drama he was running from or something. 

“Yeah, he uh, he was in there because of me; because of something he did for me. I-It's a long story, really,” Ian choked out, feeling even more cumbersome than before. 

“Wow. T-That’s a lot,” and a silence fell between them. 

“Hey, I got a little time before orientation starts; you want breakfast?” Trevor asked after a moment. 

Ian looked at him with a smile, grateful that he wasn’t running from what he just learned, “Yeah, let’s do it,” he replied with a kiss to Trevor’s shoulder. 

They trailed down to the kitchen, and Ian tried extra hard to not look towards the room Mickey was currently in, feeling insanely preternatural at everything that was going on. 

In the kitchen, Ian and Trevor fell into their usual routine easily; they cooked breakfast for the family while laughing. 

“So... what _can_ you tell me about Mickey?” Trevor asked. 

“Um...we were together for a while. Almost five years, on and off. It was... a lot; I mean, we were young and stupid, and we got into a lot of shit. It’s...it really is a long story. Things were rough, and we went through a lot. I don’t know how much I can talk about,” Ian responded quietly, his head in his hands. 

“Why can’t you tell me?” Trevor questioned quietly. 

Ian shivered, the memories of his relationship clouding his head, “I’ve never told anyone the whole story,” Ian whispered, and Trevor saw something in his eyes he had never seen before. It looked like fear, or maybe shame. 

He wasn’t going to push Ian on this, there was obviously some baggage, and it they could get through it later, “It’s okay, man. Let’s just eat.” 

Ian was immensely glad for this response; he had been so worried that things were going to get fucked up, that the confession of where Mickey had been along with his hesitation to talk would’ve scared Trevor into judging him. He was grateful that Trevor could take his insanity so well.

Alas, that grateful feeling of course did not last long, because a loud banging on the door interrupted their peace. 

Ian rushed over to the door where he heard Svetlana yelling in Russian outside, “Morkov!”   


Ripping the door open in panic, Ian was welcomed with Svetlana holding Yevgeny in her arms, a face of annoyance, “Lana, what the hell is going on, it’s like 8 in the morning.” 

“Stupid Big Papa sign up for thrupple counseling. You watch Yev for hour, yes? Thank you,” she spat out quickly, handing Yevgeny to Ian before he even had a chance to argue. 

“Wait, Lana! I gotta talk to you,” he tried to stop her, but failed miserably. 

“We talk later, I must go,” was all she said before she turned on her heel back towards Kev and Vee’s. 

Well, fuck. Ian hadn’t even thought about how Svet and Yev fit into the Mickey situation. He’s been occasionally helping Svetlana with Yevgeny since Mickey was arrested but explaining that do Mickey would probably be hard. Would Yev know who Mickey was? Ian never asked Svetlana if she visited him. 

His panic was interrupted by Trevor’s voice from the kitchen, “Was that Svetlana? She need you to watch Yev?” 

“Y-yeah, she’s got therapy or some shit,” he sputtered out, holding Yevgeny close to his chest while he played with his hair. 

“Eeeen,” Yevgeny butchered his name, but Ian loved it. The kid had been talking more and more as the time went on, and it made Ian feel like a proud dad. 

He walked past the counter with Yev in his arms and sat him in Liam’s old highchair that they kept for whatever random child showed up. 

Trying his best to prepare for what was about to come, Ian tried to keep his face calm and make breakfast for Yev in silence, but Trevor caught on to his behavior. 

“Hey, you okay? You’re all quiet,” he asked from the kitchen. 

“Um...it’s just-” Ian started to respond but was cut off by the footsteps coming from the stairs. 

Mickey descended down the stairs awkwardly, he heard Trevor and Ian go down there earlier and was trying his best to not makes things inepter than they already were. 

When he reached the bottom step, he froze completely. He had prepared himself for Ian and his boyfriend, but this he was _not_ expecting. His son was sitting right in front of him, his head buried in a bowl of cereal. It was the first time he had seen him in months, and the first time he saw him without glass in years. Mickey was put in complete awe of how old he looked, and he looked so much like him. His eyes were the same vibrant blue, and his eyebrows had an almost identical arch. 

He saw Ian staring at him, and he could see the nervousness on this face. Yevgeny must’ve noticed the tension too, because he shot his head up towards Mickey. 

For a moment, Mickey thought that he didn’t recognize him, and that the kid just thought he was a stranger. However, this was proven false when Yevgeny broke out in a huge smile, slipping out from his chair and running into Mickey’s arms, “Papa!” 

“H-Hey buddy...Gosh you’re so big, how’d that happen?” Mickey fell into being a dad almost instantly and it made Ian look at him with bemusement. Apparently, Svetlana visited him a lot, and his attitude towards his son obvious changed. 

“No glass?” Yevgeny muttered in Mickey’s arms, touching the scruff on his dad’s face. 

“No glass, buddy. Never again,” Mickey muttered kindly, bouncing Yev in his arms. 

Trevor was staring at Ian with a face of astonishment, “Dad?” 

Both Ian and Mickey’s face shot up at him, forgetting he was even there for a second. 

“Y-Yeah, Mickey is Yev’s dad,” Ian sputtered in response, looking more uncomfortable by the moment. 

“H-How?” Trevor asked in confusion, because something about this just didn’t add up. It seemed like every minute he learned some new, crazy information about this guy, and it was kind of starting to worry him. If things had been so bad that Ian couldn't even talk about it, why was he so okay with him being here? 

Ian stilled completely, looking over at Mickey for some sort of sign of how he should respond, but Mickey took the jump for him. “Svetlana and I were together...once. Kind of a long story,” he answered uncomfortably. 

Trevor was still ridiculously confused, but he didn’t press. He just gave a nod of acknowledgment and got his stuff ready to leave for work, “I gotta head, out for orientation. You’re working a day shift, right?’ he said to Ian only, choosing to tune out the other two people in the room. 

“Y-Yeah, I gotta be at the rig by 12. H-Have a good day,” he stumbled out. 

He left slowly, looking awkwardly between Ian, Mickey, and Yevgeny, and Ian just gave him a forced smiled. Once he left, he pretty much collapsed in one of the dining room chairs, Micke joining him with Yev. 

“Um, how about I watch Yev today. So, I can talk to Svet when she comes back,” Mickey uttered to break the silence. 

“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea,” Ian gave him the realest smile he could manage, before getting up to clean off the table. 

This was proving to be much harder than planned. 


	3. Balancing on Breaking Bridges

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is shorter than I wanted, but I think we need a short fluff break before more angst.
> 
> Unbeta'd  
> I feel like some characterization is off in this, but I tried.
> 
> Chapter title is from "Exile" by Taylor swift.

There becomes a time when even the strongest bridges have to fall; nothing, no matter how well crafted, can outstand  all the heat of this world. Mickey created a pretty strong bridge. It was a concept he thought of in prison, and it was his plan on how to  get back into a normal life. On one side of the bridge, he had his past. It held Ian, and all of their trauma, Svetlana, and all of his other fears,  Yevgeny, and all of his regret. It held all the things he was never able to fix. On the other side, they still were there, but changed. Ian was there, but he trusted Mickey, and they were finally happy and free. S vetlana was there, but she forgave Mickey, and was his family again. Yevgeny was there, but Mickey was finally there to be a good father to him. The family they had once started would be finally be solid . And to get there, he needed the bridge.

The bridge had three steps: sort of like those stupid AA amendments. Step 1 was to forgiv e, Step 2 was to apologize, and Step 3 was to reconcile. In his head, this seemed so easy , but as the past piled up on his shoulder, he could feel the bridge chipping away.

He thought it would be easy to forgive Ian for what he did, but now he’s watching him, and he’s not sure he’s even the same person. The Ian he was going to forgive was a broken, weak boy, wh o had just been discharged from the hospital and was on the brink of his own death. He was a boy who was just as afraid as Mickey, and just as troubled. But the person in front of him now was not this. It had onl y been two years, but Ian was a whole new person. He was a  _ man,  _ and he was completely rid of all his fears, and all his trouble. Sure, he s till had his disorder, but he was on the meds. He was able to get on the meds and get better without Mickey. He was able to do everything Mickey wanted for him all by himself.  The more Mickey thought of this, the angrier he got.

It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fucking fair. Step 1; Forgive? Why the fuck should he forgive Ian? What did Ian do to deserve his  forgiveness ? Absolute fuck all was what. Ian was the one who left him high and dry in that cell. Ian was the one who moved on like Mickey wasn’t anything more than a quick fuck. Ian was the one who didn’t seem to need Mickey for shit. 

That was the thing, it seemed like _no one_ needed him anymore. Mickey was rarely loved in his life, but he was always needed. If it wasn’t Mandy needing him for protection  against the jackasses at school, it was his brothers needing him for a run. If it wasn’t  Svetlana needing him for money, it was Ian needing him for whatever the fuck he was going through at the time.

Now, they all moved on. Mandy was in fucking Paris, making a shit load without a second glance towards him. Svetlana moved on with Yevgeny like it was nothing, evidently  trusting Ian with his kid more than him. And Ian grew up from the boy he was, into a man who couldn’t even care how Mickey was doing in prison. 

Mickey could feel all the strength he had built in that cell start to crumble; he could feel himself slipping through the cracks.  Maybe, in some fucked up way, he deserved this. He deserved this for being such a terrible person for so long, but that wasn’t him, and it was never by choice. All his life, the only thing he’s ever do ne is try to survive. All he’s ever done is fight, but he could feel that fight slipping. What was the point of fig hting if no one seemed to give a shit? He should just take his shit and leave now, forget any of this even happened. That’s what he’d do if he was smart. But he wasn’t. So , he was go ing to do the only thing he knew how to do; he was going to fight. 

☼☽

Ian took the cowardly way out, he slipped upstairs, got ready, and snuck out to work silently. He didn’t have the courage to talk to Mickey right now. He felt unsteady, and the fact that  seeing Mickey again was all it took to make him like this made it even worse. He hated the control that he had over him. He hated that no matter how hard he  tried; everything came back to Mickey.

From the outside point of view, he knows what it looks like. He knows what Mickey is thinking. He knows it looks like he just moved on with no care, but the problem is that he cared _too much_. He cared too much about Mickey to l et him watch Ian fall apart right in front of him; he really did think that leaving him was best for Mickey.

God was he wrong. He realizes that now, how incredibly wrong he had been. How wrong he is now still. He knows he can’t escape this, that this isn’t something he can just r un from forever, but he feels stuck. Running is what he does, especially from Mickey. It’s just what they did; Mickey fought, and Ian ran.  But he was tired of running. He had spent so long running from this, convincing himself that it was moving on. The truth was, he didn’t move on; all he did was learn to live without Mickey.

Mickey was like a drug to Ian, and these last two years have just been a failed attempt at rehab. No matter how much he tried, n o matter how many steps he tried to take, Mickey was in his blood. Mickey was under his skin, and there was no way for him to scrub him away. He’s been swimming in an empty lake for years now, telling himself it was the ocean; and now, Mickey is here to rain down on him. He’s here to flood all of Ian’s senses and make him finally see how wrong he’s been.

He could see it now, loud and clear; he wasn’t over Mickey. He could never be over Mickey. Sure, he could probably live the rest of his life without him, but there will forever be a whole in his heart that Mickey made. 

Part of him wants to keep running, to fight this until it’s too w eak to survive, but another part of him is so tired of fighting it. What if this was a sign? What if Mickey coming back was a sign from the universe to give it an other try? They always came back to each other; that has to mean something. 

If nothing was in his way, Ian was sure he would’ve run right back into Mickey’s arms without thought, but that wasn’t the case. There was Trevor. Trevor, the sweet, unde rstanding guy who Ian really didn’t want to hurt. Trevor, the guy who was good for Ian.

Trevor was the smart choice, the solid choice. He could make Ian content and have a good life with him. But as we already know, Ian wasn’t one for making the smart choice. 

So, he had a plan. He would wait a week, and coexist with Mickey , try and talk to  him  like adults and see if there was even anything still there, then he would talk to Trevor. He would tell him the  truth and plead to still be friends , because he really didn’t want to lose Trevor forever. 

It sucked that either way, Ian was the ass. He was the one who was going to hurt one of them, maybe even both. But what can he do? Trying is his only choice. 

☼☽

When Svetlana came back an hour later to pick up , she almost blew smoke from her ears at the sight before her. Mickey and Yevgeny sat in the  living room together, watching some cartoon about police dogs, while Mickey  talked shit about the cops being pigs.  Yevgeny bounced around happily in his lap, turning almost all of his attention to the screen. 

“What the fuck is this?” Svetlana barked from where she stood, walking into the house like she lived there.

Mickey took a deep breath, steading himself, “It’s good to see you too, Svetlana. Long time no see.”

“Give me Yevgeny! Why are you here? You escape prison?”

“Escape prison? What? No, I was let out, thank you very much.”

“They let out criminal thugs now?” 

“Oh, fuck off with that shit! Said the fucking commie whore,” Mickey’s anger started to rise.

“Where is carrot boy? He left baby with  you? I kill him,” Svetlana grabbed Yevgeny from Mickey’s lap and started to walk to the door.

“ I’m his fucking dad! I can take care of him if I want,” Mickey bit out, shaking from outrage.

“ Dad ? You are piece of shit. Piece of shit husband and father, and you will not see my son!” she spewed out, making Mickey shake harder.

Was she really suggesting that? Was she saying that he couldn’t see Yevgeny  anymore? Mickey’s head was spinning with nerves, and for a second his vision blurred entirely. This  was  _ not  _ how things were supposed to happen. He hadn’t expected her to be so fucking cruel about this. She had been there; she knew what happened. Why the fuck was she acting l ike he was the only guilty one  here ?

“Ex-fucking- cuse me? You can’t do that! He’s my kid , too.” he felt a pool of panic in his stomach.

“You were not there! You sit in jail cell while  _ I  _ raise him. You rub dicks with carrot boy while I give birth!” Svetlana was  visibly fumi ng .

“Fuck off! You know why I did that, don’t act stupid. I’m going to do better; I want to be a father to my fucking son!” Mickey argued,  fury in voice.

“He does not _need_ you; no one does!” she spit out, making Mickey still, “Yevgeny has  mother! He has me, Veronica, Big Papa, and carrot boy; he does not need felon father !

“So, what Ian can watch my kid, but I can’t? That’s not how that fucking works,” tears were weldi ng in his eyes, he felt like he was being ripped apart.

How did this happen? How did he just get replaced so  quickly? Was he really that  unimportant ? That forgettab le?  He knew he wasn’t perfect, but he didn’t expect to be hated, especially not by a  _ fucking whore _ . He felt disposable, li ke a bloody rag that they had just tossed when it got too rough.

Svetlana was still, holding Yevgeny in her arms with a  determined, vicious face, “No one needs you. You’re better off gone,” she spit, before turning on her heel, slamming the door shut as she went. 

With shaking fists, and tears running down his face, Mickey let out a strained yell,  and  kick ed the coffee table in front of him. He got up and  marched  to the kitchen, grabbing  the case of beer  from the fridge, and tramping right out the back door without looking back.

He couldn’t be in that damned house when the bridge broke, and he could feel it falling.

☼☽

When the sun was setting, and Ian was walking back home from the rig, he was determined to talk to Mickey. He was ready to explain how he felt, to try and Mickey understand. 

Outside on the porch, he took a deep breath and marched into the house with conviction . But when he found the house in complete silence, with the coffee table knocked over, panic seeped into his bones. He charged up the stairs into his old room to find that Mickey’ s bag was still there, so he couldn’t have gone far. Walking down the opposing stairs to the kitchen, he noticed the missing case of beer from the fridge and knew exac tly where he was.

Ian walked to the dugouts with the same amount of tenacity he had before, not willing to give up anytime soon. He spotted Mickey instantly, he was sitting in th e shelter with his knees near his chest, looking up into sky while cradling what seemed to be his fifth beer. 

Mickey was drunk; it had been so long since he had a drink, so the beers were extra harsh on him.  When he heard the walking on the grass, he shot his head towards the perpetrator. Seeing Ian, his anger built up incredibly fast.  Of course, the fucker found  him, he was  the only person in the world who knew all his hiding spots. 

The fury from his conversation with Svetlana was right back on the surface, and all he could feel was the bridge slipping down farther. So, he sti ll did what he planned, just not in the right way; he fought.

He shot up onto his feet and as soon as Ian was in distance, he swung a punch right into his eye.

With a grunt, Ian fell instantly at the blow, “What the fuck, Mickey!”

“Fuck you, Gallagher!” he kept swinging, falling on top of Ian. “Was it really that easy to forget me? Just pretend I didn’t exist?”

“The hell are you talking about?” Ian was returning the swings now, knocking his fist into Mickey’s nose, and drawing blood. 

“You fucker! You did this! You’re the one who just replaced me with that new guy. Y-You're the one who took my kid! You’re the one who doesn’t give a sh it about me,” Mickey stuttered out, blood and spit leaking into Ian’s forehead.

Mustering enough strength, Ian flipped them over and pinned Mickey into grass, returning  to his punches with vigor. “I didn’t do shit! You were the one in prison. What did you expect me to? Wait for you while you rotted in there? Take the Statesville bus to see you every weekend for  _ fi _ _ fteen  _ years?” 

“Better than just leaving me! Fuck you; how come you got to move  on, and I’m still stuck here,” Mickey was thrashing underneath Ian’s old, trying to escape.

Ian stopped punching, and let Mickey’s words sink in. Mickey thought Ian didn’t care, that he just moved on. He thought he had been replaced by Trevor, and that his  absence meant nothing. 

Still breathing heavily, Ian softened his hold on Mickey, using his body to hold him. When Mickey realized this, he stopped his trouncing and grunting, and opened his eyes to look at Ian above him. 

He was still, breathing heavily with blood running down his face. He looked sad almost, or maybe contrite. Ian moved his hands from where they were on Mickey’s chest, to hold his face.  The only thing pinning him down now was Ian’s legs, but Mickey did nothing to fight it. 

Mickey felt himself heat up at Ian’s touch, and he took a deep, stuttering breath.

“I didn’t...I didn’t move on, Mick. I could never just _ move on _ ,” Ian whispered  profoundly , his hands holding Mickey’s cheeks and his forehead on his. 

Mickey could feel their breath mixing, and they were so close.  They were so close, and Mickey wanted nothing more than to give in; to indulge into his desires that pooled at the pit of his stomach. It would be so easy to just reach up and kiss him , they were already less than an inch apart. But his bridge stopped him; he knew what it was like to be cheated on by Ian Gallagher, and he refused to make someone else go  through that.

It wasn't that he didn’t want it, he wanted it more than anything, but he couldn’t. And Ian knew this, “Ian...you can’t,” Mickey  whimpered into Ian’s mouth above him.

Ian let out a breath which mixed with Mickey’s, “Fuck...I-I know,” his voice was heavy, and more desperate than he ever heard it be.

With as much strength as he could muster, he tore himself off of Mickey and laid next to him, trying to catch his breath.

He felt like he was drowning, like he had been balancing on a broken bridge for the past two years and now all of a sudden, Mickey was  here, and he was drowning in the water below. 

“What are we doing, Mick?” Ian whispered without realizing he said it.

Mickey wanted to get mad at this, but he couldn’t. All he could manage was a dry laugh, “Who the fuck knows. We’ve never really known what we’re doing,  fire crotch .”

“I really am...so sorry. I was just so  _ broken _ . I really did think I was helping you, that I didn’t deserve you. And I don’t. I just- I'm so  fucked up- and I know that’s not an excuse, but all I can say is that I'm  _ trying,”  _ Ian blubber ed, making Mickey turn his head sharply to look at him. 

“Fuck, Ian. I never blamed you for that shit, okay?  _ Never _ . I just...it’s hard being here. It's hard coming back here and seeing how much I just didn’t matter,” he trailed of quietly, his hands shaking.

Ian shot up from where he was laying, staring at Mickey incredulously, “The fuck  are you talking about?  Of course, you matter, Mickey. What’s got you thinking that no one gives a shit?”

Now it was Mickey’s turn to look at Ian like he was crazy,  “What do  _ you  _ mean? I was gone for two years, _only two_ , and I come back, and everything is different! Everything is different and not a single person needs me here. Svetlana’s got a new  family, a nd she won’t let me see Yevgeny. Mandy’s rich and fucked off without a single blink towards me. And you...you got better. You got better  without me, and you moved on to your official medical job and new boyfriend. 

Ian softened, suddenly understanding everything, “Just because things changed, doesn’t mean we don’t care. I. .. I can’t speak for Lana and Mands, but you need to know that I never stopped caring. I didn’t want to,  but I though t about you every day. I... don’t really feel like I’ve moved on. ”

“Fuck you mean? You’ve obviously moved on,” Mickey muttered  drunkenly , a little too wasted to really digest what Mickey is saying. 

“I... it’s like I put a band aid over a stab wound. And this whole time, it’s been fine, and the band aid stopped the bleeding; but  it’s still not stitched. There's a still a wound there, and if I wasn’t consistently changing the bandage, I would just bleed out,” Ian tried to study Mickey’s face for any notion that we understood this fucked up analogy, “And. .. now that you’re back, the wound is open ag ain.  It’s completely open and I can’t tell if you’re  gonna stitch me up or just rip the bandage off."

Mickey’s heart stopped, he didn’t quite get what Ian was saying, but he got enough to know what he was asking. “Stitch... I’ll always stitch you up,” he whispered sincerel y.

Ian looked down at Mickey with stars in his eyes, he knew Mickey’s confession was drunk and bashed, but hearing it still made his heart soar. “You  got any more beer?” he asked, wiping at the blood on his bottom lip.

Mickey broke out into a bright smile, hopping up wearily, and getting the beer from the inside of the dugout. With his heart in knots and his eye bruising, he handed Ian one of the beers and flopped back down on the grass. The two laid there for hours, laying down on their  backs in  telepathic silence, and fuc king  _ stargazed _ . 

☼☽

By the time they made it home it was incredibly late, and they were incredibly drunk. They laughed and stumbled home with  persistent smiles and it felt just like old times. So much l ike it, that Mickey was  worryingly waiting for the shoe to drop. He could see it  already; they’d go home and there’d be fucking  aliens there to steal Ian this time. 

But luckily, there were no aliens. The house was pretty much silent and that made them giggle even more. Hanging onto each other like lifelines, they tried their best to walk up the stairs without falling to their deaths. 

Finally, and with determination, they made it to the peak and Mickey frowned when he turned to go back to his guest room. As he turned, preparing to lose this  cultivated feeling that they shared these past hours, he was stopped by Ian’s hold on his wrist.

“W-Where? No... Mick, sleep...sleep with me,” Ian slurred, clutching onto Mickey.

“I can’t, Ian. You’ve...you’ve got a  _ boyfriend _ ,” Mickey whispered the last word like it was a dirty secret.

“ Psshh . It’s...It’s okay. We won’t do anything. Just-Just sleep,” Ian stuttered out, smiling  benevolently, “I promise. S- Scout's honor,” he emphasized by holding two  fingers up in an oath. 

“Put those things away,” Mickey slurred his words with a giggle, making Ian  erupt in loud laugher.

“ Shhh ,” Mickey tried to shush him, “Yeah...okay, let’s sleep.”

And  so, they did ; giggling as they wandered into Ian’s room, holding onto each other. Ian threw his clothes off like they were hurting him, exhaling when he was  rid of his jeans and shirts and left in his boxers.

Mickey stilled looking at Ian’s body, the years were definitely kind on him. He had abs for days, and the v line towards Mickey’s favorite part had somehow become even sharper. Mickey could fe el the bulge in his pants growing involuntarily and almost whimpered, “Ian...please put some clothes on.”

“Shit...yeah, hold up,” Ian said as he realized what he did, grabbing a shirt to sleep in. Hearing Mickey’s voice plead like that made his stomach flip and his dick twitch, and he had to take a moment to rem ember how to breathe.

Climbing into the bed next to Ian, with his boxers and shirt on, Mickey sighed to himself at the familiar smell. It was so strongly  _ Ian _ , and even though he could smell a hint of another  man’s cologne, he could care less because it was _so much Ian_.

Ian looked at Micke y with eyes of fire , wanting nothing more than to touch Mickey like no time had passed. He almost felt the need to sit on his hands to control himself. He could feel the heat radiating off Mickey’s body where he  laid, and his drunken mind made him  give in.

“Mickey? Can I. .. hold you?” Ian asked timidly.

Even drunk and weary, Mickey’s heart ascended at that. The smart side of his wanted to refuse, and run right back to the other room, but he wasn’t strong enough for  that. 

“You don’t have to ask,” he muttered as Ian sighed and reached his arms around Mickey’s torso, spooning him fro m the side. With hesitation, Ian grabbed  Mickey’s hand and laced their fingers together, taking a long exhale and slipping into the most beautiful sleep he’s had in years. 

☼☽

Ian  was  w oken  by incredibly loud banging coming from the front door. His head  was pounding with the strength of a million lions, and he thought it just mind fall off. Blinking the sleep out from his eyes, he untangled himself from Mickey’s embrace and grinned to himself at the me mory of the night. He didn’t remember a lot of the details, but he could never forget the way his heart beamed at being in the company of Mickey again. 

Stumbling out of bed with incredible pain, Ian trudged down the stairs, “Jesus! I’m coming, I’m coming.”

When he got to the door, he opened it to a panicked boyfriend, “T-Trevor? What’re you doing here?” Ian stuttered out, sobering up quickly.

“You were supposed to meet me last night but never showed. Wait, what the fuck happened to your face? Are you okay?” Trevor’s anger faded to panic quickly as he reached out to hold Ian’s beaten face.

Ian had actually forgotten all about the fight, too focused on the soft part of the night. When they got home, they were too drunk to even clean their faces or  assess the damage.

“I’m fine. D-Don’t worry about it,” Ian  stuttered out as Trevor let himself into the house.

“Who did this?” Trevor ignored him, panicking like Ian had been stabbed or something.

“ _ No one _ did it. It’s fine. Just a couple punches, man, stop,” Ian grumbled, swatting away Trevor’s hands.

Stilling, Trevor looked at Ian like he was insane, “You can’t just disappear on me and show up all beaten and not expect me to worry, Ian. Just.. .  tell me what happened. Are you off your meds ?” he whispered the last question.

Ian shot up from his place on the back of the couch, anger suddenly surging through him, “What? No, I’m not off my meds! Don't even ask me that.”

Trevor softened, not meaning to upset Ian, “I’m sorry, babe. Just tell me what happened, please.”

“It’s really nothing. Me and Mickey got drunk last night and got into a fight, it’s really not a big deal” Ian explained.

“Mickey did this? Jesus, Ian! Why did you even let him back here? Is he really a thug or something?” 

Anger now flooding through him violently, Ian fumed at Trevor’s accusation, “No! Fuck off, it was one fight, and I hit him too don’t make this something it isn’t. You don’t know shit about him!”   
  
“Yeah, because you won’t tell me shit! You’re acting all mysterious and weird and I don’t know why.”   


Exhaling, Ian tried to steady himself, “I know...and I’m sorry, okay? It's just a lot for me right now, and I need some time. I’ll explain soon, I promise.”

Trevor softened too, “It’s okay, babe. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Dragging Ian up the stairs, Trevor walked towards the bathroom but stilled when he passed Ian’s room.

Curled up in a ball on the bed, he could see Mickey. He was sleeping peacefully, with matching bruises and blood on his face . Jealousy and hurt suddenly seeped through him, realizing what was going on.

“What the fuck is he doing in your bed, Ian? Did you really...sleep with him?” Trevor turned and yelled at Ian accusingly.

Ian started to panic, shaking his head and tried to explain himself, “No! I told you, we got drunk last night. We just passed out when we got home; nothing happened.”

With shaking hands, Trevor backed up from Ian, not believing him. “You know what, I can’t do this shit right now. Call me when you’ve got a better explanation for this shit, ” he marched out of the house with tears in his eyes. God, he should have known. Ian was acting all weird, he should’ve known something was going on. 

Making his way back to his car, Trevor thought about everything. Could Ian be telling the truth? I really didn’t look like it. What could have happened to make him so weird about this? What was he hiding? There was obv iously something going on if they were beating the shit out of each other like it was nothing. 

Steading his breath, Trevor had an idea; if Ian wouldn’t tell him the truth, Mickey would have to. With his brain running a million miles a minute, he developed hi s plan. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed :)
> 
> Leave feedback!

**Author's Note:**

> To be continued!!
> 
> I'm so excited to share this; please leave me feedback !! :)


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